


The Convention - An Ugly Couch (Day 15: Spooning)

by drownedinblissfulconfusion (tundraeternal)



Series: The Convention [15]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/pseuds/drownedinblissfulconfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP Challenge</p>
<p>A succession of Cockles fics & ficlets, set at a fictional convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention - An Ugly Couch (Day 15: Spooning)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not personally know any of the people I'm writing about. As far as I'm concerned, these are fictional characters in some alternate universe, which exists someplace between our own and the French Drop universe, who happen to bear superficial resemblance to our boys (and girls). Their conversations, personalities, and innermost thoughts are generally extrapolated from plausible reality, occasionally made up from whole cloth.

Once again they’re in the green room, taking a breather before they’re whisked back into the fray by bossy con personnel. It’s practically empty right now--only the two of them and Chad, who’s got his feet propped on a table, headphones on his ears, and is snoring gently. Jensen smirks; Friday nights are always late nights for Chad, and he always wanders around like a zombie for most of Saturday. The fans seems to love it, weirdly. Chad’s a ‘character’ or something. Or maybe just a reminder that even people who are on TV can get hangovers. Jensen takes a quick survey of the refreshments table and grabs a coke and a bag of chips, then collapses on the couch. 

Misha’s already there with his back against the arm, feet up on the cushions, and when he feels Jensen sit, he looks up from his iPhone and prods his thigh with a toe. 

“Did you bring me some cookies?”

“Misha, the table is literally fifteen feet away from you.” Jensen pops his bag of chips. “Get your own damn cookies.”

“I’m comfortable,” Misha whines. 

“I just sat down! Here, have a dorito.” He offers the bag to Misha. 

Misha sits up, but instead of taking the bag, he grabs Jensen’s shoulders, wraps his legs around Jensen’s waist, and pulls. When the flailing is over and limbs have been rearranged, they’re lying on their sides, spooned together. Misha’s neatly sandwiched between Jensen and the couch cushions, but he seems perfectly comfortable with his arms around Jensen’s torso and one leg thrown over Jensen’s knees. The doritos did not survive the struggle; the bag lies forlornly on the floor. 

Misha purrs and squeezes Jensen. 

“What are you, a koala bear?” Jensen complains, but doesn’t pull away. “Someone’s gonna see us.”

“So what? We’re not naked. And I’ve done worse.” 

Jensen has to admit that’s true. He smiles, but only because he knows Misha can’t see. “Well, I haven’t done worse. I have a reputation to protect!” 

“Mmm. Five minutes. Just let yourself relax for five minutes.”

“Is this a punishment for not getting you cookies?” Jensen teases.

“Is having me touch you a punishment, Jensen?” His voice sounds disturbingly sharp, and Jensen tenses.

“No, of course not-” the protest dies on his lips when he feels Misha’s huff of laughter on the back of his neck. “You are such a little shit.” 

“You love me for it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good. So, five minutes?”

“Five minutes.” He covers Misha’s arms with his own, and relaxes.


End file.
